


A Dress to Die for

by lou2



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst and Humor, Chappy - Freeform, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Ishida-centric, Loving Marriage, M/M, Wedding Planning, needle-fu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lou2/pseuds/lou2
Summary: -Rukia isn't happy with her wedding attire, so Ichigo enlists Ishida for help.-





	A Dress to Die for

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LJ August 2009
> 
> Originally written for Collaboration Challenge at our_scriptorium with moshesque. 
> 
> I tried to properly list this as a collaboration, but it wouldn't let me use a name not listed in AO3, and I don't know if moshesque ever wrote here under another name. 
> 
> I have not read the last Bleach arc, but from what I understand this would likely have to be considered AU now. However, back when moshesque and I wrote this, we thought this was at least a possibility.

“Some days I wish I was still a Rukongai stray.” Rukia sighed, staring longingly at the floral red iro uchikake on display in the shop window. “Then I could wear exactly what I want for my wedding.”

Ishida didn't know what to say to that—it wasn't as if he was versed in the shopping habits of women. “I don't want to sound rude, Rukia-san, but wouldn't Inoue-san be a better choice to take shopping with you?”

“No, I’m not really shopping. Nii-sama is having my shiromuku uchikake commissioned by the best dressmaker in Seireitei. Orihime would just get me too excited about dresses I can’t have anyway.” Pointing to the traditional white-on-white formal wedding kimono, Rukia let out a much more resigned sigh. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

This was something Ishida understood more about and, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he realised he could use it to put Rukia’s disappointment to rest. "Actually, it has too many flaws, and the embroidery is boring and conventional. I’m sure Kuchiki-san will have something much better commissioned for you.”

“I’d much rather have that one over there.” Rukia pointed to the more vibrant red kimono, its delicately embroidered cranes dancing over the rich fabric. “Except it doesn’t have any Chappy rabbits on it. That would be a must.” The corners of her mouth tilted upward.

Not wanting to offend her, Ishida kept his comments on Chappy to himself. “Why not just explain to your brother that you'd like something more vibrant and not so traditional for your wedding?”

“You do know Nii-sama, right?” She stared up at him with wide, incredulous eyes. “You must be kidding. I think he’s been planning this wedding since he adopted me. He has everything mapped out, from the wedding shrine he’s having built in the garden, down to all of Ichigo’s clothes which he’s having commissioned.” She gave him a little smile. “At least for once Ichigo isn’t fighting him on it.”

“He isn't?” Ishida lifted an eyebrow. “To think, Kurosaki willingly going along with something without causing a ruckus.”

Rukia's breath created little explosions of steam on the shop window as she pressed her face to the glass. “Yeah, he took one look at the defy-me-and-I'll-Senbonzakura-you expression on Nii-sama's face and decided against it.”

“Ahh, I see. That makes sense.” Ishida nodded to himself, realising Kurosaki’s choice in a wife wasn't the only thing he had got right. Maybe Kurosaki did have a tiny glimmer of self-preservation, which was admittedly more than Ishida had previously given him credit for. Then again, looking at Kurosaki’s track record on diving into precarious waters without securing a life jacket first, it was understandable to have doubts about his mental health. “Very wise of him.”

It felt strange to be complimenting someone he didn’t get along with, someone Ishida considered the complete opposite to himself. He supposed as long as Kurosaki was able to walk the line and keep the peace with Kuchiki-san for the time being, the wedding preparations would come along smoothly and Rukia would have her special day.

The trouble was, Ishida couldn’t ignore the ball of tension squatted at the pit of his stomach when he thought about the lead-up to the big day. The ball was large and persistent enough to warrant a name, and the only fitting name Ishida could come up with began with a ‘Ku’ and ended in ‘rosaki’.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“Honestly, Kurosaki, do you really think you can sneak up on me with that ridiculous reiatsu of yours?”

Ishida stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn, sensing Kurosaki stepping up beside him. His sandaled feet made no sound on the bleached roof tiles, and for a moment both of them stared in silence over the neatly lined Karakura rooftops. In the distance, the sun was sinking and the sky had turned a burnt orange. A few stars were winking from above, peeking through the gauze of fading daylight.

“Hey, come on,” Kurosaki said. “I’m lots better than I used to be, even you've gotta admit that.” He let out an indignant huff. “By the way, where the hell are you going this time of night? I thought you weren’t patrolling anymore.”

Ishida sniffed and adjusted his glasses. “I've been bombarded with your reiatsu for so many years; I seriously doubt you'll ever be able to hide from me. And no, I'm not on patrol. I needed some sewing supplies for my current project, and there are fewer things to hold me up if I travel over the roofs.”

“Cool! Actually, the sewing thing is just what I wanna to talk to you about.”

Ishida turned to gape at him. “You want to talk to me about sewing? Are you feeling ill?”

“Hell no, I’m not ill.” Kurosaki rolled his eyes. “I just need you to make some unapproved alterations to Rukia’s dress.”

Ishida blinked. “Excuse me?! You make it sound so off-hand.” Folding his arms across his chest, Ishida shook his head. “You don’t have to go any further. I am not sneaking into the Kuchiki mansion. It would be insanity to even try it.”

Well, this was Kurosaki he was talking to, so Ishida supposed the insanity thing was a given. He’d long, long ago surmised Kurosaki was a few arrows short of a quiver.

“Come on, Ishida. I know Rukia's already talked to you about how much she hates her dress.” Kurosaki pulled his face into a long-suffering wince. “I know you could use that needle-fu of yours and do something to it.”

“No,” Ishida said, in his most Final Tone. “And don't call it 'needle-fu'. That's just ridiculous.”

“Okay, I'll tell you what, I won’t make you plan the bachelor party anymore. I’ll make Renji do it.” Kurosaki cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Are... are you serious?” Ishida was unable to stop himself from considering it. Planning parties for large groups of raucous men wasn’t on his list of things to do before he died, and he’d been dreading organising the event ever since Kurosaki pressured him into it. “You’d really let me skip it?”

“Hey!” Kurosaki’s perpetual scowl reappeared. “I didn’t say you could skip it. I just said you won’t have to plan it.”

Ishida took a breath and pondered this for a few seconds. Could he really pass up the opportunity to get out of the stag party preparations? “How do you propose to sneak me into the mansion?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Kurosaki said, holding up his hands. “There's no sneaking in. I figured I’d just steal the dress for a night.”

“You know what I said just now, about the insanity of sneaking into the mansion?” Ishida said patiently, as if he were talking to a small child. “This is even crazier. Stealing Rukia’s dress from under Kuchiki-san’s nose?!”

“I don’t think it’s crazy,” announced Kurosaki.

“You wouldn’t!” Throwing up his hands, Ishida let out an “Argh! Listen, Kurosaki, I’m going to make this very clear for you right now. Even if we could get the dress secured without Kuchiki-san finding out, you do not go traipsing all over the worlds with a dress of that calibre.”

“But I’m not sure I can sneak you in.” Scratching at the back of his neck, Kurosaki pulled his face into a frown. “Byakuya has servants in every corner of the place. Besides, he’d feel your reiatsu right away.”

“Can’t you just cover me with your monstrous reiatsu?”

Shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other, Kurosaki shrugged. “Ehh... Byakuya's forbidden me from entering the mansion if I can’t control myself. He says it gives him a headache.”

“I know how he feels. I had to deal with it in school for years,” Ishida muttered under his breath, and then louder he asked, “Can’t you just lie and tell him the wedding jitters are making you occasionally lose control?”

Kurosaki idly transferred his caveman-esque scratching from his neck to his chin. “I guess that could work...” Then, with an assured nod, he tossed a grin at Ishida. 

Suddenly, Ishida's stomach started to plummet, and he wished he hadn't said anything. 

“Yeah, sure," Kurosaki went on. "We can get away with that. I'll tell you what, I'll go in there tomorrow with full reiatsu, then if he catches me I’ll tell him I’m having trouble holding it in with all the wedding stress. Any guy's gotta believe that, right? Even one as uptight as Byakuya.”

“Is it too late to retract my idea?” Ishida asked, the sinking feeling in his gut getting heavier. He already knew the answer.

“Way too late.” The triumphant grin was still plastered firmly to Kurosaki's face. “Anyway, this is for Rukia, remember?”

For Rukia, yes, but Ishida was starting to wonder if it really was worth dying for the sake of a dress. After all, it was entirely likely his fate would be long and painful if Kuchiki-san caught them tampering with something he was paying a high price for.

In fact, if Kuchiki-san caught them, Ishida was pretty sure he'd have no fate left at all.

“Kurosa—”

“So I'll catch up with you tomorrow.” Kurosaki gave Ishida a light thump on the shoulder with his fist, one of those chummy 'now we're in league and there's no backing out of it' knocks. Ishida adjusted his glasses when he failed to sidestep the boisterous contact. “Thanks, man.”

Ishida opened his mouth to stop him, but before he could speak Kurosaki disappeared in the blink of an eye. Damn him for getting so good at using shunpo. All Ishida could do was stand and stare at the vacant space where Kurosaki had been, pondering the many and varied ways Kuchiki Byakuya might choose to punish him.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

“This is insane. This is insane. This is insane. You were right, Ishida—I’ve lost my mind.” Kurosaki glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway behind them, then lowered his voice to a rough whisper. “I'm gonna die before I even get married! Why are we doing this again?”

“Because,” Ishida said quietly, slowly, “despite all your faults—and they are numerous, believe me—you actually really love Rukia. I have no idea why she loves you back, but I know you couldn’t have made a more fortunate selection, even if a Pro Nakoudo had chosen a bride for you. Rukia is far beyond anything you deserve, and your gift today is more thoughtful than I gave you credit for.”

“Wow, Ishida, thanks for the glowing endorsement.” Kurosaki smirked at him, stopping at a heavy oak door halfway down the hall. “Okay, this is it. I can’t come in with you. If Byakuya found my reiatsu coming from behind this door, he really would kill me.”

“Of course you can’t come in. I swear Kurosaki, you say the most stupid thi–”

“Can we limit the insults today? I need to split and get as far away from this room as possible before Byakuya tracks me down.”

“You can’t leave. As soon as you do, Kuchiki-san will sense me and then I’ll be the dead one."

“Shit. I can’t stand outside this door all day, and neither can you—if he comes along now, we're in trouble.”

“This was your idea,” Ishida pointed out, since it seemed as though Kurosaki had forgotten and expected him to do something about it. “If anyone should be in trouble, it should be you.”

But Kurosaki was ignoring him. “Wait—do you hear that?” Eyes wide, he tilted his head and listened.

Sure enough, there were footsteps approaching, light and measured, and yet somehow imposing. Even if they weren't standing at the very heart of the Kuchiki estate, Ishida knew there was only one possible person whose footsteps could sound so serious and intimidating.

“Quick, get in there before he sees you!” Without ceremony, Kurosaki grabbed the door handle with one hand, then grabbed Ishida with the other and gave him a hearty shove.

“Wait—!” But Ishida was tumbling through the doorway before he could say any more. Stumbling forward and then righting himself, he glared over his shoulder at Kurosaki. The glare wavered slightly when he saw the frantic expression stretched across Kurosaki's features, fear and panic all in one.

“I'll come back for you in... how long will you need?” Kurosaki tapped at the spot on his wrist where a watch would sit, were he wearing one.

Well, any chance of escape had long passed; the footsteps were getting closer to the hallway, crisp and clear now, a smooth thud-thud of socked feet over highly polished floorboards. 

Ishida realised there was no choice in the matter. “An hour ought to do it. You'd better not leave me here, Kurosaki, or I promise you arrows. Many, many arrows—”

The door clicked shut, and Ishida found himself standing alone with his insult fading to nothing. He took a moment to glance around the room—sparse, but for the one striking feature wrapped around a mannequin at the centre. The snow-white kimono seemed to glow in the dim light. It looked so delicate, but—as Ishida had imagined—it was also terribly traditional with its metres and metres of white-on-white.

For Rukia, he thought, over and over again like a mantra.

With a quiet but heavy sigh, Ishida trudged over to the dress, lowered himself onto his knees, and got to work.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

Chappy rabbits?! Ishida still couldn’t believe Kurosaki had talked him into adding Chappys to Rukia’s shiromuku wedding ensemble. Although he'd been instructed to add as many as he could to all four layers of the gown so that Rukia would see them as she dressed but the guests would not notice them as readily, it seemed almost a sacrilege to embroider weird little rabbits onto the luxurious silk.

The white brocade cranes were amazing, and must have been enormously time consuming; they looked nearly identical in all their hand woven and beaded splendour. The cherry blossoms were a bit much in his opinion, but since they were clearly a symbol of the current Kuchiki household, Ishida supposed it was hardly surprising. He decided to leave the headpiece alone, as the delicate fabric was already strained to its maximum with all the embroidery, decorations, and hand sewn attachments. It would likely be much too obvious to add a Chappy rabbit anywhere on the exquisite headdress.

As he worked, the meticulous work on the wedding ensemble called to something in Ishida’s soul, and he felt a clench of terror at altering such elegant and superior garments. This was his area of expertise, and yet it was also new, uncharted territory.

Steeling his resolve, Ishida carefully picked through the many folds and layers of pure white as he began what Kurosaki so annoyingly called his 'needle-fu'. Before long, Ishida was lost in the many layers and soothing motion of the needle pinched between his fingers, and he wasn’t sure how much time had passed or how much longer he had left. Pulling back, he took a moment to admire the exceptional job he’d done with adding the tiny rabbit heads and making them mirror some of the smaller cherry blossoms. They would only be noticeable if someone was within a metre and studying the pattern closely.

It was only when Ishida came to the innermost layer, which no one but Kurosaki was ever supposed to see, that the discomfort started to spread hotly through him. This layer wasn’t meant to be subtle at all; in fact, Kurosaki had made Ishida promise that Rukia would immediately know how much she was loved when she began dressing. 

Swallowing a nervous lump that was lodged in his throat, Ishida carefully sewed the ridiculous Chappy motif so that it would rest over Rukia’s heart when it was worn properly, and then on a whim he stitched a tiny red strawberry in its mouth and a pale pink heart surrounding it. All spontaneous creativity aside, he still felt a bit anxious touching Rukia’s hadajuban, but since this big effort had been at the behest of the groom, he was probably safe...

Well, unless Kurosaki noticed the small blue Quincy cross on the bottom hem of the previous kimono layer. Ishida dismissed it entirely though. He knew Kurosaki would be much too distracted by the woman inside the kimono than what was on it.

Since the chances of Kuchiki-san ever seeing these unauthorized additions were slim to non-existent, his only real worry now was getting out of the mansion with his skin intact. As Ishida reassembled the layers and used his reiatsu to press out the wrinkles, he wondered how Kurosaki had fared keeping Kuchiki-san distracted. Even Ishida could appreciate what an interesting hour both men must have had. With a small wicked smile, Ishida turned and left the room, hoping Kurosaki would remember where to meet him.

All was quiet in the hallway outside. Glancing left and then right and letting out his held breath, Ishida hurried toward the junction at the end of the hall, retracing the route Kurosaki had led him earlier. As he rounded the corner, he almost ran straight into a figure barrelling at high-speed the opposite direction.

“Ishida! There you are—we've gotta split.” Kurosaki's words came out in quick, heaving pants, and his cheeks were stained with pink splotches. Small beads of perspiration filmed his forehead and upper-lip; wherever he’d come from, the guy had sprinted the entire way.

“Kurosaki, what’s going—?”

“I mean right now. I only just managed to lose him.” Unceremoniously grabbing Ishida's sleeve with no apparent consideration for how easy it was to crease the material of his coat, Kurosaki yanked him along the corridor toward the staircase at the end. It felt to Ishida like his entire day so far had been made up of being tugged and shoved and pushed around from place to place, and he was nearing the end of his tether.

“If you think you can escape me that easily, Kurosaki Ichigo,” said a smooth, cold voice from behind them, “you still have a lot to learn about being my future in-law.”

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks. Ishida's blood ran cold in his veins and all indignation over being tugged around like a trailer evaporated on the fizzing, tension-filled air that descended like a shroud. Kurosaki swallowed audibly beside him, and the grip on his arm slowly went limp, then disappeared.

“B-Byakuya.” Ishida had never seen Kurosaki's face so pale before, drained but for the two rosy spots above his cheekbones from where he'd been running. “Uh, I was... uh... just showing Ishida around the place. Since—um—he's a friend of mine and Rukia's, and he'll probably come visit now and then.”

Acting wasn't one of Kurosaki's fortes, but Ishida dared not comment on it. Judging by the thin, unimpressed line that was once Byakuya's mouth, he hadn't bought the lie either. Was there any point saying anything, with imminent doom hovering above, charging the atmosphere in the hallway with a dangerous, electrifying pulse?

Probably not.

“Explain yourselves.” The words were low and silky, and sharp as a blade. The hairs at the back of Ishida's neck slowly rose to points.

Kurosaki's mouth opened and closed soundlessly for a couple of seconds, making him look like a giant red koi. Then he finally managed to stutter, “We were just—I mean, Ishida was just—and I decided to—but then...”

This was going nowhere fast. Ishida dug deep into the bottom of his throat for his voice, dragged it up and hoped it would remain calm. “What Kurosaki is trying to say,” he managed, reaching up to nudge his glasses up the bridge of his sweaty nose, “is that I was just checking over a couple of last-minute details, ensuring all was perfect for your sister's big day.”

A fine black eyebrow arched. “Oh? What details would those be?”

Damn. “The dress,” admitted Ishida; there was no way around it. “I was just checking the dress was coming along properly.”

“Yeah,” Kurosaki piped up beside him, voice weaker than Ishida had ever heard it. It squeaked slightly at the end. “Ishida's big with the needle-fu, so I wanted him to just have a look. Make sure it was good to go.”

Cringing, Ishida turned slowly and shot Kurosaki a pointed glare, but it went unnoticed—Kurosaki was too busy keeping an eye on his soon-to-be brother-in-law.

“I see.” Byakuya coolly stepped forward, his house robes making a soft hissing sound over the floorboards. “I wasn't aware your companion was skilled in other forms of combat.”

Ishida did a swift double-take, and a strange, strangled noise escaped Kurosaki's throat. "Hughuh?"

“I would see this 'needle-fu',” Kuchiki-san informed them, his stoicism beginning to sound vaguely warning. Turning his cool eyes on Ishida, he spoke directly to him. “If you would care to demonstrate.” A pale, well-manicured hand gestured for Ishida to step forward.

Ishida's feet might as well have been stapled to the floor, for all he could oblige. “Er… eh,” he spluttered, which wasn't really befitting a Quincy. It wasn't as if he was afraid to fight. Had there been noble reasons for the encounter, he would've maybe even enjoyed sparring with a seasoned shinigami like Kuchiki-san.

Unfortunately, there was nothing noble about stealing into somebody else's house and tinkering with property that didn't belong to them. Ishida felt deplorable, and Kurosaki was even more of a pain in the backside for talking him into this. “I think there's been a misunderstanding.”

“What 'misunderstanding' could there possibly be?” Kuchiki-san seemed to be standing closer, though Ishida hadn't seen him move. The man's wilful reiatsu filled every inch of the hallway space, bearing down and all around them like an imminent storm. “My future brother-in-law,” he said this with a slight wince, as if he had just tasted something sour, “suddenly disappears, and I end up finding you here, outside one of my private chambers where the dress I commissioned is being made. I'm then informed the... friend... of my future brother-in-law,” that little sour twitch again, “is skilled in a martial art I'm not familiar with, and I ask for a demonstration. I would think the situation is more than clear.”

“Hey, Byakuya, it was just a joke,” Kurosaki said.

“I was not addressing you, Kurosaki Ichigo.” There was that knife-cutting tone. Any further comments Kurosaki had to make dried up and stark silence filled the hall, as Kuchiki-san drew his freakishly calm, yet freakishly dangerous gaze to Kurosaki. A little blast of reiatsu struck Ishida's side from Kurosaki's direction, and his stomach muscles tensed up in response. Looked like Kurosaki didn't have as much control over it as he thought, not when being stared down by possibly the most dangerous man in Kurosaki's universe—the sole in-law, technically brother and father.

Ishida wasn't exactly in a good position here, but at least he wasn't Kurosaki.

Kuchiki-san's hand wandered toward his hip, as if he were reaching for the hilt of his zanpakutou. Ishida heard the choked sound scrabbling around in Kurosaki's throat, but dared not turn away; after all, it wasn't Kurosaki currently being challenged to showcase his 'needle-fu'. Ishida still had to be on guard.

Eyes narrowed to the point where Ishida thought there might be an event horizon, Kuchiki-san waited, watching them both.

It was then Ishida felt the barest ghost of understated humour in Kuchiki-san’s reiatsu, just a glimmer beneath the intensity. For a second, Ishida almost didn't believe it, but there it was again—unmistakable—brushing against him like a sighed breath. Nothing showed on the captain's stoic face, but Ishida couldn’t pass the feeling off. He glanced at Kurosaki and realised regardless of how disciplined he’d become, the waves of dread pouring off him were masking Kuchiki-san’s underlying intent.

At first Ishida wasn’t sure if the humour was directed at his own anxiety or Kurosaki’s terror, but after a longer than appropriate mute response, he decided to take a chance.

“Well, you see sir, Kurosaki has a rather injudicious way with words. He thinks he’s being funny when he calls it 'needle-fu', when in fact, it's simply a ridiculous reference to my expert sewing skills.” That ought to do it.

“Indeed,” said Kuchiki-san, “that is most unfortunate. I was hoping for a new adversary on the training field. Kurosaki Ichigo has become rather boring of late. Perhaps for fear of angering his new family?” The last question was directed at Kurosaki and all the poor man could do was stutter and stammer and make nonsense words. Ishida had actually started to feel bad for Kurosaki, until Kuchiki-san redirected his implacable gaze again. A cold shiver slid through Ishida before he realised there was a glimmer in Kuchiki-san’s eyes that along with the spurt of humour in his reiatsu smacked of comedic torture.

Maybe if Ishida played his cards right, he could not only get out of this unscathed, but also perpetrate revenge on Kurosaki for putting him into this situation, and perhaps even cultivate a partner-in-crime for future retribution on his long-time rival. It was an enjoyable hobby to persecute Kurosaki as often as humanly possible.

With a sniff and a cock of his head, Ishida dove into the deep end. “I sincerely apologize, Kuchiki-san, for disrupting your day and having you mislead like this. Kurosaki blackmailed me into coming here today to check on Rukia’s dress and make a few minor alterations.”

There was a sudden flinch to Ishida's side and he heard a small, cut-off sound that might have been a curse word. It was impossible not to look over at him; Ishida watched Kurosaki turn multiple shades of red in outrage, then, at the mention of the alterations, Kurosaki blanched for a second before a sickly pale green washed over his face. Ishida schooled his expression as neutral as possible, given the circumstances.

“Alterations?” Kuchiki-san said. “Serious repercussions will ensue if they are the least bit damaging to the design or dress. Perhaps, Ishida-kun, you should show me what Kurosaki has coerced you into doing?”

Following Kuchiki-san into the sewing room was probably the longest twenty steps of his life. He had no idea how to explain the absurdity of the alterations, so he simply held his tongue and waited for the verbal abuse to start.

The captain scrutinized the dress for a full ten minutes before backing away, one measured step at a time. Ishida could have sworn he saw one side of Kuchiki-san’s lips rise, but it was gone in a blink, which made Ishida wonder if it had been his imagination.

“I must admit, the stitching is subtle and exceptionally well done.” Kuchiki-san turned and pinned Ishida with his icy eyes for two heartbeats, then turned and headed toward the door. Out in the corridor, Kurosaki was still planted to the floorboards. Kuchiki-san approached him, a hawk to its prey. “I do not approve, but for Rukia’s sake I will not alter the dress any further.”

Ishida breathed a great sigh of relief and counted himself extremely lucky, not just because of the dress, but also because for the time being Kuchiki-san was focused solely on Kurosaki.

“It's fortunate you have such superiorly skilled friends Kurosaki Ichigo. Ishida-kun’s work is impeccable. He even managed to hide your gift to Rukia within the folds so the alterations wouldn't show on the wedding day for all the guests to see.”

Ishida could see the pent-up anxiety about to burst out of Kurosaki; he was wound so tight by the stress of the encounter, his fists were shaking at his sides as he balled them into white-knuckled rocks.

“However, you will need to make reparations to me for your clandestine attack on my household and Rukia’s shiromuku.” There it was: the catch. Ishida knew there had to be one, and he was sure it was going to be painful. “You will learn to respect this house and the Kuchiki clan, or I will make you regret this marriage in ways you can’t even begin to comprehend. Are we clear?”

Kurosaki looked ready to faint, quivering like a puppet whose strings were about to break and spill him to the floor.

Taking a small amount of pity, Ishida cleared his throat softly from behind them. “Again, I apologize, Kuchiki-san. Though, I'm grateful for your complimentary remarks on my work. Be assured I would not have made the alterations, had I not been one-hundred percent certain that Rukia-san would love them.”

“I have no doubt she will be most appreciative. My ire is not at the results, but at the actions taken to obtain them. To that affect, Kurosaki Ichigo, you will meet me on the training grounds for the next three nights. If I cannot obtain your respect off the field, I will be sure to thrash it into you on the field.”

“B-but Byakuya, the bachelor party is supposed to be tomorrow night, and—”

“It will be a welcome relief to have that degenerate celebration done away with. It's beneath a member of my family to go carousing and drinking and making a fool of himself around semi-clad women. You'd do well to bear that in mind.”

“We weren’t going to the strip clubs!” Kurosaki blurted. “Renji just planned a big bar party at Ikkaku’s favourite place. It’s nothing like the party the Shinigami Women’s Association had for Rukia, right here in the mansion! Shouldn't you worry more about a semi-clad Kyouraku, 'cause from what I heard—” 

“That, Kurosaki, is none of your business. The Shinigami Women’s Association is a respectable institution and as such would not stoop to what you imagine.”

Even with Ishida’s rare acquaintance with Kuchiki-san, he could tell the man was lying through his teeth. Kurosaki on the other hand was so wrapped up in his own catastrophe that he missed every subtle hint thrown his way.

“Byakuya, are you saying they didn't—”

“Stop. I am done discussing this matter. You owe my honour and my household restitution for your disrespect and as such you will meet me for the next three nights on the training grounds or as head of the Kuchiki clan, I will officially ask Rukia to cancel this ill-fated wedding.”

“You wouldn’t!” Panic flashed across Kurosaki's strained features, followed closely by a flush of resignation.

“Unless honour is satisfied, I most certainly would,” Kuchiki-san said.

Sighing, Kurosaki hung his head. “Okay, okay. I get it. I'll meet you on the field.” This last was spoken with the utmost reluctance. “And I'm sorry for screwing up,” he added, as if it would change anything.

As Ishida took a step toward them, a small hum stopped him in his tracks. Kurosaki seemed too intent on making a break for it to hear, and Kuchiki-san reached out with one smooth hand and took hold of his shoulder.

“I don't recall releasing you, and I refuse to be insulted further in my own home.” The steel in Kuchiki-san’s voice belied any objections, and Ishida was convinced there was no longer any humour involved in the conversation.

“Though you were coerced into this endeavour, Ishida-kun, I still require restitution for the disrespect. You must spar with me as well. I understand this ‘needle-fu’ isn’t a Quincy technique. However, I believe with your battle experience you should be a suitable sparring partner in other aspects. The day after the wedding is an acceptable time.”

“But Byaku—”

“You are dismissed now.” Kuchiki-san might as well have slammed a heavy oak door in their faces.

Silence fell.

Kurosaki snapped his jaw shut, and Kuchiki-san pivoted on his heel and began to glide back into the shadows of the hallway.

Ishida was halfway through a respectful bow when he felt Kurosaki's hand on his arm, yanking him hard for the second time that day. “I can't believe you sold me out, you bastard!”

“Get—your—hands—off—me,” Ishida grated, shrugging Kurosaki away. “It's your fault I was caught up in this situation in the first place.” There went his chance of smoothing over any remaining bad feelings between them, but Ishida wasn't in the mood to build any bridges. Instead, he tossed Kurosaki a glare and trudged down the hallway. The sooner they were out of there, the better.

After a few seconds, he heard Kurosaki following, but he kept his distance. That was fine with Ishida; there was nothing to say, at least not while they were still potentially in earshot of Kuchiki-san. Who knew what secret passages and cubby holes the man had hidden away in his expansive mansion.

Once outside, Ishida let out a silent sigh and turned to Kurosaki. “You owe me,” he said, ignoring the memory of Kuchiki-san's reiatsu and the small, amused edge it'd had. “I won't let you forget.”

Kurosaki clicked his tongue and had the nerve to look put out. “I hear ya.”

It was a shame, really—he looked so pitiful in that moment, Ishida almost felt guilty for withholding the information about Kuchiki-san’s little intimidation prank.

Then again, things could've ended so much worse. For both of them.

 

* * * * * * * *

 

As soon as the wedding and ritual duties were concluded, Rukia raced over and captured Ishida in a bear hug. For such a small woman, she had some mighty squeezing power; Ishida only just managed to suck in a breath of air.

When she released him, she stepped back and stared up with soft, sparkling eyes. “You remembered. Oh, Ishida, the Chappy rabbits on my dress are the best gift I’ve ever had.” She took his hand and planted a light kiss on his palm that seemed to draw a flush of warmth right up his neck and onto his face. “It might not be red with cranes, but coming from you it’s so much better. Thanks.”

Ishida cleared his throat twice and pushed his glasses up his nose. “It was my privilege Kuchi—I mean Kurosaki-san.”

“Nah. Call me Rukia. I’m too used to hearing you say Kurosaki with such disdain, I’m not sure I could ever get used to you calling me that.” The giggle that erupted from her was somehow fitting of her new life. Ishida hadn’t really been worried about her, but it would be just a bit easier now to breathe.

Ishida allowed a full smile, not the carefully guarded half-smiles he reserved for his degenerate friends. “Very well Rukia, I'm honoured. Though I must be perfectly honest, it was Kurosaki who coerced me into the action. I would never have taken those kinds of liberties on my own. It was an honour to add a personal touch to your shiromuku, though.”

“I saw what you did on the hadajuban. I know the strawberry was your idea—Ichigo would never have thought to ask for that. It was very sweet. Does he know about the Quincy cross on the hem of the previous layer?” Rukia’s laugh drew the attention of all the wedding guests who were scattered around them. She really was stunning when she was genuinely happy. If Kurosaki didn’t know how lucky he was, he was a bigger fool than even Ishida thought.

“I'd prefer to keep that our secret,” Ishida said, keeping his voice low. “I believe I'm in enough hot water with your brother and your husband over this little gift.”

Rukia threw her arms around Ishida’s neck and gave him a vocal-chord crushing squish. “Well then this can’t possibly make it any worse. Thanks again, Ishida, you really are a good friend.”

“I think you’ve molested my wife plenty tonight,” said a familiar voice. Ishida looked up sharply, but Kurosaki was smiling as he took Rukia's hand and drew her away, tucking her petite frame into the crook of his arm.

“Hey, I was doing the molesting and Ishida was being sweet for putting up with me.” Rukia poked Kurosaki in the ribs. “I’ll thank you for the additions to my dress a little later tonight.”

The blush that stained Kurosaki’s cheeks was priceless. It was impossible for anyone not to see who was really in charge of their relationship.

Ishida smirked lightly. “I noticed during the ceremony that you kept your name, Kurosaki. Did you have to put on your mask to beat Kuchiki-san for that privilege?”

Outraged, Kurosaki yelled, “Hell, no! Byakuya wasn’t any more interested in sharing a name with me than I was with him.”

“I see. I suppose that is logical and most fortunate... for both of you.” Ishida offered Kurosaki a nod. “It was a beautiful wedding and I wish you all the best.” In this, Ishida was most sincere. “I ought to be heading along now."

“Wait, Ishida! The party's only just started.” Rukia reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “You can’t leave yet.”

“I have a long trip home tonight and I have to be back in the morning. I still owe Kuchiki-san his due, and he's requested our match to take place in the morning.”

“Oh Ishida, I can talk to Nii-sama. He wouldn’t deny me anything tonight.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I believe his request was more than punishment for me.”

“Yes, I suppose it'll give Nii-sama a good excuse to leave before we all get too smashed to pretend the party's still respectable.” Rukia grinned, then ducked out from under Kurosaki’s arm and gave Ishida one last hug, whispering, “Were you able to find the right lace and finish the gift for Ichigo?”

“Of course,” he murmured. Ishida blushed at the thought of that particular gift. To conceal the colour he was sure had risen on his face, he leaned in to kiss Rukia’s cheek. “I have no doubt he'll like his gift as much as you did yours.”

“Yours what?” asked Kurosaki, narrowing his eyes as Rukia stepped back and beamed.

“Oh, nothing,” Rukia said vaguely, slipping her arm around Kurosaki's waist.

“Oh yeah,” Kurosaki said suddenly, then stopped. Ishida looked at him, at the way Kurosaki's mouth opened and then closed. He made that gormless face a lot, and Ishida was about to turn and leave when Kurosaki finally, awkwardly ruffled the back of his head. “Ishida, before you go, I just wanted to say... uh, thanks. Y'know, for everything.”

“For risking my life against your brother, you mean?”

“Er... yeah. That.” Kurosaki gave him a tight little nod, and then hoisted his wife up into his arms. “See ya 'round,” he added, as he turned on his heel and strode toward the shrine Kuchiki-san had erected for the newlyweds, his mass of bright orange hair disappearing beneath hanging paper lanterns and flower tributes. The sound of laughter and music spilled out across the Kuchiki grounds, and beneath the raucous partying he almost didn't hear the approach of another pair of footsteps, these ones stealthy and quick.

“I trust she was pleased with the alterations,” came a smooth voice from the shadows.

Ishida was half-expecting it; he'd had a sense that somebody was hovering nearby ever since Rukia had caught him. Turning toward the tall, well-dressed man who was approaching with a grace borne from many years of discipline and nobility, he bowed his head. “Kuchiki-san. Congratulations on acquiring a brother-in-law.”

It was worth the risk, just for the twinge of distaste that flitted over Kuchiki-san's face. “I don’t think congratulations are in order for that,” came the dry reply. “I hope you haven't forgotten you're to meet me here on the training field, first thing tomorrow.”

“I haven't forgotten,” Ishida said. “I was heading home now to prepare.”

“See that you do.” Kuchiki-san inclined his head and turned, then stopped and cast Ishida one last cool glance. “By the way, your... needle-fu, was it?... is quite fine. While I don't necessarily agree with your methods of approaching a garment, I would consider hiring you to do work for me in the future, should you ever decide to take commissions. Though I will ask in advance for you to resist the urge to adorn any of my garments with the insignia of the Quincy.” With a quirk of his eyebrow so swift Ishida wasn't sure if he imagined it, Kuchiki-san vanished into the night.

It was some time before Ishida managed to close his mouth and stop gaping after him. Somehow he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, Kurosaki would never believe him if he tried to explain that his new brother-in-law, the most respected and feared Kuchiki Byakuya, had a sense of humour.

~Fin~

**Author's Note:**

> If you happened to read this and liked it, a kudos would be happily appreciated.
> 
> Comments are wonderful, but completely unnecessary.


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